Something Wicked This Way Comes
by Aries Draco
Summary: Crowley gets a visitor from you-know-where and things go downhill from there. (chapter 3 up)
1. Everyone, Spell SHIT

Disclaimer: Good Omens belongs to Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman. The character Belial belongs to me, though.

A/N: The... er... demons mentioned in this have their positions due to a combination of reading Paradise Lost and Angel Sanctuary, though I don't think my final list has any historical basis at all. My very first Good Omens ficcie. Hope it's okay.

Something Wicked This Way Comes  
#1: Everyone, Spell S-H-I-T  
By: Aries Draco

The first thing Crowley noticed when he got back to his apartment was the profusion of greenery blanketing his lounge floor. The second was the wave of tangible relief emitted by the plants upon his return. And the third nearly sent him out of the door again.

_"Shit."_ Well, it was only a matter of time. He should have known that Hell would get to him eventually, what with the botched Armageddon and all. Still, after all that relative silence, he had hoped that the day would never come.

"Good evening, Crowley," greeted the demon cheerfully. "Don't look at me like that. I'm not going to start torturing in a thousand exquisite ways. Have a seat."

Said demon was comfortable sprawled on the sofa, dressed sedately in a pale blue turtleneck, white pants and a white coat over everything. With gorgeous golden hair and an utterly divine pair of blue eyes, he looked like a fucking angel. Except for the fact that his shadow seemed preoccupied with harassing Crowley's plants.

Wasn't the official greeting 'All hail Satan'? "Er, good evening?" ventured Crowley. He had never seen this demon before. However, the vibes he was getting hinted at a high level demon. Maybe even a Duke. But that made no sense because all high-ranking demons drew attention to themselves, out of vanity or simply because of their actions.

"Have a seat, Crowley," repeated the demon, smiling benignly, though there was a dark undertone of command that promised pain if he was not immediately obeyed. Being a (relatively) smart demon, Crowley sat down. As far away from the intruder as it was physically possible.

This demon was just... wrong. Not in the sense of right and wrong but wrong like... like a forty-year old dressing up like a teenager. A corset might hide the shape and makeup might hide the face but people would always _know_. No matter how perfect the disguise, there was just a feeling of wrongness.

And of course, things never went well when a supposed enemy was smiling at you like an indulgent parent at a misbehaving child.

"As you may know, my dear, there are many downstairs who are screaming for your blood," the demon pointed out almost conversationally. "And your entrails. And I'm sure someone called dibs on your eyeballs."

Crowley was not surprised. "And I suppose you were sent to bring me down," he continued for the other demon. To his surprise, the mockery of an angel shook his head, laughing.

Laughter. Like everything else about the demon, it seemed perfect but felt wrong. Crowley shivered. Was there anyone he knew about that matched this description?

"You have no idea who I am, do you?" smiled the demon. "Alright. Could you do me a favour and remind me, who are the seven Princes of Hell under the Lord of Darkness?"

Seven Princes. Right. "Beelzebub, Azazel, Moloch, Mammon," listed Crowley. Four off the top of his head, the most notorious of the seven. "Then there's Astaroth and Barbelo and..." He stopped short. "And..." Come to think of it, had there really been seven? He had never studied the ranks of Hell, knowing just enough to keep him out of trouble, but the Princes... Yes, seven Princes, the left and right hands of Satan himself, each with his or her own quirk. But the seventh... Oh Go—Oh Sa—Oh FUCK!

"And me," finished the demon, a flicker of malevolence grotesquely deforming the angelic features for the mere fraction of a second. It was enough. If there was a colour paler than white, Crowley would have sported it. "Belial."

Belial. Though Crowley did not know him, he knew a lot _about_ him. For one, back in heaven, Belial was second only to Lucifer in terms of popularity. Everything he said made sense somehow and everyone had thought he would become the Voice of God. Instead, on the day of the Great Battle, the bastard strolled out of Heaven and went to Hell. Voluntarily. Said it saved him the trouble of going through a pointless battle.

Briefly, Crowley wondered if it would be a wiser idea to turn himself over to Hastur. At least he knew how the Duke of Hell operated. Belial was batshit insane, to put it mildly. What the fuck did Belial want with him?!

As if reading his mind, which was entirely probable, the demon spoke. "As I was saying before, you're in some serious trouble. I'm here to make a deal with you." Belial paused expectantly, as if waiting for Crowley to ask,

"What sort of deal?" Warily, he regarded his superior, who was smiling. Again. Always. And Crowley wondered if Belial had been smiling when he waltzed out of heaven. Probably.

"I need a helper for awhile, Crowley, and in return for your services, I will personally ensure your safety in Hell," stated the Prince of Hell amiably. "I've got the contract right here." He pulled a piece of parchment out of thin air. "Have a gander."

Crowley wasn't, by any standard, stupid. He read through the contract, twice, carefully, then pulled out the microscope that happened to be under the coffee table to check for fine print. The contract was perfect. If he accepted, he could waltz in and out of hell without a care for the people out for his blood, because even Princes balked at confronting Belial. There was only one catch.

"What sort of services do you require, Lord?" inquired Crowley politely while wondering if he had gone mad. Here he was, negotiating a deal with a psychopath. In his opinion, that was more dangerous than dealing with the Devil. At least with the Devil, all you had to lose was your soul.

"Oh, you know. Seeing as you've been on earth since the very beginning, I'm sure you'll have contacts, agents and such. And transport. They're convenient to use. You see, I'm looking for something."

"So, you want me to help you to find something."

"Some _things_," corrected Belial. "Once you've signed the contract, I can give you your first task."

A certain eternity of, well, Hell, or an uncertain safety in the hands of a psychopath? Fuck it. Hell was going to catch up with him in the end so he might as well put off the suffering. Crowley picked up the black quill that Belial so helpfully provided. There was no ink; it needed none. Crowley signed in blood.

"Perfect," cooed Belial. He took the piece of parchment and rolled it up. It promptly vanished, presumably into Hell's records. "Now, Crowley, listen carefully. Tomorrow, we will visit a certain angel who is stationed on earth. You must bring me there. It's a Principality, if I'm not mistaken."

Crowley blinked.

"And that's all for tonight. See you in the morning."

Crowley watched as the Prince got up. The sedate outfit melted into a mesh shirt, a leather miniskirt, fishnets and stilettos. Golden hair faded to a darker ash as Belial proceeded into Crowley's bedroom. The door slammed shut. A moment later, the Prince peeked out.

"You don't mind, do you?" he asked brightly.

Crowley shook his head mutely. What the fuck could he say?

"Oh, good."

The door slammed shut again. Absently, Crowley got out his plant mister and watered the plants, stroking them absently. If he had been thinking about it, he would have been pretty irritated by their obvious relief at regaining their familiar, if sadistic, master. But he wasn't thinking about that. He was too busy thinking of how to get rid of the bodies because he didn't want to be too busy thinking about what Belial wanted with Aziraphale.

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	2. We're Off to See the Angel

Disclaimer: Refer to previous chapter.

A/N: Wow, reviews! I feel honoured! Thank you to all who reviewed and I shall persevere in making this a pleasant reading experience. Though it seems to be a little slow right now. Anyway: On with the story!

Something Wicked This Way Comes  
#2: We're Off to See the Angel  
By: Aries Draco

For a demon who enjoyed sleeping, Crowley was up sinfully early. It was alright in the sense that most humans considered being up at five in the morning a mortal sin so he wasn't doing anything wrong (or right, or something). Then again, getting up late was a sign of sloth. So what was the right time to get up in the morning anyway? After spending ten minutes pondering this, he abruptly remembered why he had spent an uncomfortable night on his leather sofa.

By half past five _in the morning_, Crowley was comfortably drunk. Vaguely, he thought about calling the angel. Right, he could just see how that would turn out.

_"Hey, angel. Look, I've got one of my superiors up here and he wants a word with you. We'll be right over... once he decides to leave, of course. He's torturing some humans right now, I think."_

There was probably something in the Arrangement about this. As he picked his way through his train wreck of thought, he heard a noise. Swiftly, he sobered up and hid the alcohol. Belial might be his superior but he'd be blessed if he had to share his collection. This was real alcohol, not something wished up and it always tasted better.

Instead of the demon, Crowley was greeted by two human beings. To his surprise and annoyance, the male began to ransack his fridge while the female started making coffee with the top-of-the-range coffee maker that Crowley never bothered to use. He briefly considered setting them on fire but they were _Belial's_, weren't they? Oh, bless it all!

Crowley faked a discreet cough. The girl, having set up the machine, turned to him with a bright smile on her face. Crowley cringed inwardly at the sheer happiness radiating from her.

"Hi, my name is Sarah and that's my boyfriend, Seth!" she said cheerfully. As if on cue, the guy sauntered over and sat down with a sigh.

"Hey, is there any real food in here?" he demanded. He was promptly whacked by his girlfriend.

"Be nice," she chided, brightly. Crowley was seriously considering the consequences of throwing her out of a convenient window and weighing it against the trouble he might get into. She turned to him. "Thank you ever so much for letting us stay the night! Your friend was such a nice person! Seth and I were originally planning to kill ourselves, like Romeo and Juliet, you know? My mom hates Seth for some reason but he's the only guy for me! So, anyway, you friend talked us out of it, told us we could try for a baby instead! Imagine that, a baby! If we had a baby, our parents will definitely have to let us get married and we can live happily ever after!" Crowley could practically see the exclamation marks. The guy at least had the decency to look embarrassed.

"Come on, Sarah," he muttered, casting a glance at the demon. "We've troubled them enough. Let's go."

The girl looked put out. Then brightened. "Well, bye!" she called as her boyfriend dragged her to the door. "God bless you all!" The door slammed shut. Crowley ran for the bedroom.

"Beli...al?" _oooo, prettyangelkneelingonfloorwhatthehellamIthinking?!_

Belial blinked. "You're up early," he commented matter-of-factly.

That did it. "You try sleeping on a designer leather sofa, then having your immaculate kitchen ransacked by gloom-and-doom-boy and his exclamation-mark-ridden psycho girlfriend, who, may I add, BLESSED us!" Crowley took a deep breath, then found out that it didn't work. "You stopped them from committing a mortal sin, in addition to everything! You might as well have married them and sent them on their merry way!"

_"CROWLEY."_

Imagine a thousand nails scraping against blackboard. Imagine the screams of all the souls in hell. Imagine the so-called music of a thousand death metal garage bands. Imagine every sound that ever raped the ear of mankind. Now imagine handing all the sounds over to a blind baboon for remixing. Got it? Right, now you have an idea of how Belial was sounding. Through a six feet thick wall. Made of lead. Crowley wasn't so fortunate.

In the space of the second Belial took to say his name in that voice, Crowley _felt_ the voice. Unlike human beings, whose minds are programmed to protect them from unnatural things, he was a demon and in that instant, he perceived everything that the voice entailed.

Then, Belial was smiling again. "Oh, come on, that wasn't so bad," he laughed, voice back to normal.

It was. Crowley shuddered, pressing himself against a wall. Seeing that, Belial walked over and patted the demon on his head, pouting.

"I didn't scare you too bad, did I?" he asked innocently. His only reply was a whimper. "Oh, dear. Come on, now." Then, he smiled widely with the air of someone who had just had an epiphany. "I know what will make you feel better! You know that couple? They're siblings."

No response.

"I'll make breakfast?"

...

"Crowley, don't make me use the voice again," warned Belial. That did it. "Right, now that you're all better, I'll go make us some breakfast, k?"

It could have been a fatal mistake. After seeing Belial look, act and talk like a frikkin' angel, he had let his guard down, almost forgetting that Belial was a Prince of Hell. Princes didn't get their positions because they had the support of the denizens. They got their positions because people feared them.

Another five minutes passed before Crowley managed to compose himself. All the time he had been spending with human beings must have been rubbing off on him because he was beginning to think that he had hallucinated the whole incident. Or it could be because Belial was sending out waves of reassurance.

Right. The sooner they went to see the angel, the sooner Belial would be out of his hair. Once they were done with breakfast, it would be straight to the angel's. Breakfast. And Crowley realised that he hadn't had breakfast since some time in the seventeenth century, mainly because he was usually only up in time for lunch.

There wasn't much of a point in having breakfast, Crowley realised later. It wasn't that different from having lunch, just earlier. And it just spoilt your appetite for a proper meal. Crowley was busy deciding that he didn't like breakfast very much. He still didn't want to be busy thinking about what Belial wanted with Aziraphale.

They were in the Bentley. There had been some delay as Belial had insisted on donating a large amount of money to a nun and cleaning up a little street child. Said nun was later mugged and murdered and the kid? You don't want to know what happened to kid.

So they were in the Bentley, on the road toward Aziraphale's shop. Belial pulled a cassette out from his coat (he had returned to his angelic form), smiling at Crowley. "You don't mind, do you?"

Crowley shook his head. Why did he even bother asking? It was not like the lesser demon could say no. The tape began to play.

"Hey? What the...? How...?"

Crowley glanced over at the placidly smiling demon. He wouldn't...

"Hello, my dear," cooed Belial. "Don't worry about the situation you're in. In about a fortnight, you'll cease to exist. You should appreciate the trouble I'm going through to give you a pleasant demise, really."

The creature in the tape yelled some profanities that Crowley didn't realise existed. Belial calmly turned the volume down to nothing and began to whistle. While he had considered this idea before, Crowley had not been enough of a bastard. So that was the difference, huh?

And what would a helpless angel do when faced with a Prince of Hell?

Crowley calmly directed his thoughts away from that and directed the Bentley into its assigned parking space.

"So, this is it?" asked Belial, staring at the little bookshop. "How... quaint."

"I think I shall warn him before letting you in," began Crowley before he was waved off. Belial was staring at something up the road. Taking it as a sign of agreement, Crowley ignored the 'closed' sign and entered.

"We're closed!" came the angel's voice. Then, "Oh, it's you. What are you doing here?"

And Aziraphale appeared. Well, it would have been nice to think that he popped into existence out of thin air but all he really did was step out of the back room, shaking dust out of his hair. Since he had been carefully avoiding thinking about Aziraphale, Crowley suddenly found that he didn't have a prepared reply. Fortunately for him, the screeching of brakes outside the shop saved him from humiliating himself in front of the angel.

Both man-like creatures rushed out to see what was happening, Aziraphale because someone might have gotten hurt; Crowley because he had left _Belial_ out there. They were just in time to see Belial patting a little boy on the head.

"Now, child, be careful when you're crossing the road, won't you?" he warned, smiling cheerfully. He waved the startled driver on, mouthing 'he's fine', then turned back to the boy, who was sniffling. "Are you crying?"

The boy looked up defiantly. "No. I'm a big boy and big boys don't cry!" he declared with the certainty that all six-year-olds possessed. Belial laughed softly, leaning down and whispering something to the kid. The boy brightened up, then waved goodbye while running off.

Aziraphale was staring with wide eyes. "Did they send another angel?" he wondered aloud. He was honestly puzzled and a little put out when Crowley started laughing hysterically. Belial just smiled.

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	3. 

...

Dog could not get to sleep. It was peering out of Adam's bedroom window when it saw the man.

The man looked up and saw Dog.

Dog opened its mouth.

The man put a finger to his lips, smiling like a knife.

Dog went to sleep.

The next day, news went around that there was a newcomer in Tadfield. He would be taking over Jasmine Cottage from the Pulsifers, who had since found their own house, a bigger one, in anticipation of the children. It was rumoured that he was an actor and a pouf, but everyone put up with him relatively well because he smiled so sweetly and seemed generally harmless.

His name was Lionel Zephyr.


	4. There's This Problem

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

A/N: Demon in tape is not Hastur, just some poor sod who pissed Belial off. Hm, I really should have made it clear. And I don't think that this is going to have much romance in it so I really don't know if there will be a pairing...

Something Wicked This Way Comes  
#3: There's This Problem  
By: Aries Draco

Aziraphale was not used to dealing with demons. Oh, sure, after six thousand years, he had Crowley in the bag but he never had to deal with other demons. Which was why he was sitting down inside the back room of his shop, accepting the very strong drink that Crowley was offering him and wondering if he ought to be doing something, like contacting Heaven and letting them know that a PRINCE OF HELL was interested in him.

Belial was sitting outside, in the main area of the shop. It would not be difficult to temporarily immobilise Crowley (who might feel obliged to support his superior) while blessing a bucket of water to throw over the PRINCE OF HELL. Right, maybe that would do. Then they could forget all about this and go back to their normal, everyday lives. Thwarting was his job after all and Belial was not part of the Arrangement.

The more he thought about it, the better he felt. Yes, he could go through with this.

"Angel, why are you grinning like that?" asked Crowley in a slightly worried tone of voice.

Of course, there would be repercussions. For example, Hell would be seriously displeased (to put it mildly) to lose a Prince. This could result in orders to do away with the angel, once and for all. And they'd have to fight. And when he won, which he would because he was on the side of good, he would have to deal with a replacement demon and six thousand years of building up relations would be ruined.

So maybe it wasn't such a good idea, after all.

"Aziraphale!" yelled Crowley. It was obvious that the demon had been trying to get his attention for the past few minutes.

"Yes?" replied the angel, nonplussed.

"Urm." Crowley squirmed slightly. What was wrong with him today? He was usually eloquent enough to dance circles around the angel's head, especially considering the state of inebriation that the angel had reached, but today! Today he was at a loss for words. And he was willing to bet (as demons were wont to push the blame) that Belial was the cause of it.

Aziraphale sobered up. He needed a clear mind to plot his course of action. Why was he drinking? Ah, right. He gave a little frown as he noted that Crowley had tried to distract him with alcohol, feeling rather guilty that it had actually worked. But the time now was for planning, not punishment. Aziraphale made a little note to get some extra work done, just to get back at Crowley, then turned his mind back to his current predicament.

There was a scream, followed by the wet 'thunk' of a heavy object coming into contact with something decidedly more fragile, then a sort of gurgle, causing both angel and demon to stare at the door to the back room. And there was a polite knock. The door opened and Belial poked his head in.

Crowley eyed his superior warily. Aziraphale had already gotten up, tensed into a fighting stance.

"What happened?" he demanded, striding to the door, giving Crowley the impression of a flaming-sword-welding-angel that he hadn't seen in awhile.

Belial grinned sheepishly, offering a bloody encyclopaedia to the surprised angel. "I'm dreadfully sorry about the book but do you happen to have a sink?" he inquired. Examining his hands and his now-bloody coat, he shook his head. "Dear me, I've always _hated_ killing people. There's so much paperwork relating to it."

Horrified, Aziraphale dashed out of the back room to be faced with a very dead... imp. There was a look of fear on its face, or what's left of it, considering that it had just had its skull bashed in by a thick book. It was apparent that the imp had only been some kind of messenger but...

_Why would a Prince of Hell randomly murder a worthless little imp?_

Crowley stared at the mess on the floor, slowly getting the feeling that he had been seriously screwed over. Things were beginning to click out of place.

There was a reason why Belial was not well known in hell. It was because he had done absolutely _nothing_ that was noteworthy ever since he fell. While the other Princes spent time torturing their underlings and tempting human souls, it was rumoured that Belial was holed up in his little corner of Hell, dozing. For sure, he'd only ever visited the human world.

But many things had changed since his last visit, they must have. So how did he know how to dress, how to act? He must have spent time in the world prior to visiting Crowley. Crowley kicked himself mentally. He had just assumed that Belial had come straight to him, since he was expecting a visit anyway. He had just assumed that he had come into a stroke of good fortune.

Now that he thought about it, it was obvious. The demon in the tape should have given him a hint. Belial knew what he was doing. And what had the demon been saying? _"You'll never get away with this, Belial! There will be more..."_

Belial was being hunted by the forces of Hell. Crowley had signed a contract with someone who was WANTED in Hell. Numbly, he informed the angel of his conclusions.

"Smart little guy you are," quipped Belial, still smiling brightly, back from the sink. "But there's nothing much you can do now, is there?" He helped himself to a seat and gestured for the angel to sit down as well. "I suppose I should make clear the situation now. Please, have a seat, angel. This is going to be a pretty unbelievable story."

"You tricked me, you fucking bastard!"

Belial rolled his eyes. "Come _on_, Crowley. I'm a fucking demon, it's what I do." And Crowley had no reply to that.

That little issue settled, Belial stood up. He proceeded to sit down on the angel's lap, straddling him, one hand wrapping around the exposed throat. "Now, angel dearest, I need you to do me a little favour," he cooed softly. "Will you be kind enough to open a line to Heaven? For me?"

Aziraphale, recovering from his shock, moved to shove the demon off but found himself on the floor instead. A hand was tangled in his hair as his head came into repeated contact with the hard floor.

"Don't even think about it, Crowley." Belial moved methodically, slamming the angel's head down over and over again. Then, he paused. "Listen, my dear, there is more than one way for me to get into contact with Heaven. Why don't you make things simpler for all of us?" he whispered almost tenderly. "I hate to kill people, really. But some things must be done."

One major drawback of having a body that you would be restricted to its physical limitations. Aziraphale's vision swam before he regained control over himself and willed the headache away. "Why would a demon want to contact Heaven?" he asked, opening his eyes. His accusing gaze was met by a pair of azure orbs.

"Does it really matter?" countered Belial, voice smooth and hypnotic. "It's not like I can do much over what is essentially a phoneline to Heaven. All I really want to do is to talk to someone up there. That's it, to talk. And you know how hard it is for anyone to establish two-way communication. That's why I need your help, angel. Please open up a line for me. I'll be ever in your debt."

What he was saying did make a lot of sense. The angel pondered these words. Well, there would be no harm in doing it anyway, right? Plus, he would put a demon, a Prince of Hell, mind you, in his debt. It could come in useful. There was nothing technically wrong with doing it, was there? Of course not.

Belial got up and helped the angel to his feet, smiling gratefully. As Aziraphale made the preparations, Crowley glowered at the Prince. Noticing him, Belial grinned even more widely.

"Don't look at me like that, Crowley. You look like I'd just raped your wife or something," laughed Belial. He looked down at his still-bloodstained clothes, then shook his head. "Oh dear me, I can't let anyone see me like this." He nodded curtly and the blood vanished.

At around the same time, a blue light filled the room. It gave the impression of looking around and not being very amused at what it found.

"Hello!" said Belial brightly. "Remember me?"

"How can anyone forget?" replied the Voice dryly. "Why have you coerced the Principality into contacting us?"

The smile faded somewhat from the demon's face. "Well, I'll be short with it. Lucifer's gone missing, Hell is in the midst of civil war and I was hoping to get some help to rectify these problems."

There was a moment of silence.

"And what makes you think that we are interested in meddling with the affairs of Hell?"

Any last pretence of joviality left Belial's face. "The Devil is loose on earth, doesn't that matter to you?" he demanded.

"And that is your reason? Because you felt that the humanity is in danger?" There was a definite note of amusement in the Voice.

"Amongst other things," replied Belial, now glaring at the light. "Lucifer's return to Hell will restore order there and at least you'll know where he is."

"We are of the opinion that the main reason you would want Satan back is because things will be more comfortable for you then. We know all about you. You're a Prince of Hell now, aren't you? But everyone knows the only reason for that is because you prostitute yourself to Satan at every available chance. Now, with your backing gone, things must be getting rather... uncomfortable."

Aziraphale watched the exchange in amazement. Was it just him or was the Voice sounding exceptionally vindictive? Belial... was smiling again, calmly, and the angel was beginning to learn to fear that smile.

"That is not the point, Voice. It would benefit your side as much as it would benefit me if you sent someone to look for Lucifer," explained Belial matter-of-factly. "Plus, I know that most of the remaining Princes are planning for war. Once the civil war is over, they will march against Heaven. Lucifer can stop them."

"We thank you for the warning, Belial. Rest assured that Heaven shall be prepared for any possible invasion." There was a pause. "However, your point has been considered. It is important that the Morningstar be found, therefore, we shall allow the Principality, Aziraphale, to aid you in your search. Please leave the room while he is briefed."

_What?!_

The angel didn't even notice Belial drag an equally stunned Crowley out of the shop.

"Aziraphale, here is your mission. You are to keep track of the happenings Hell by remaining with those two demons and observing them. There is no doubt they will receive news, one way or another. If there is a successful revolution, we _must_ know of it. You must not let them know of your mission, else they may attempt to feed you inaccurate information. It is imperative that we are kept informed of the status of Hell, that we may be ready for anything they throw at us."

"So, basically, you want me to deceive them, to pretend that I am helping them while stealing information," summarised Aziraphale sardonically.

"Stealing is such a negative word. Let's call it espionage. In any case, the end justifies the means and you shall be forgiven for any sins you may commit in the course of this mission."

"I feel so much better," muttered the angel.

"May we remind you that there is a small, unresolved matter about the Apocalypse that wasn't?" asked the Voice sweetly in a tone that would have made Belial proud. "We suggest that you try your best in this mission to redeem yourself, Aziraphale. We'll be watching."

And that, they say, was that.

2013/150804


End file.
